Blackheart
by Jayd Roze
Summary: This is the life and story of a girl named Morgan, and how she grows up to become a pirate, and her encounters with Captain Jack Sparrow. Sorry for historical or geographical inaccuracies, I tried my best.
1. A Girl Named Morgan

**Chapter I**

The day was May 9th, and it was hot and muggy. But what else would one expect, being in the Caribbean and all. Pain screamed forth from the quaint little house atop the cliff overlooking the port at Cruz Bay. This was the western part of the island futurely to be known as Saint John.

"Push!" Nurses bustled about, in, and out of the bedroom, aiding to the round, tan woman lying disheveled on the bed, sweaty and in pain. Her respectable, well-dressed (and less tan) husband sat by her side, holding her hand and comfortingly petting her head.

"It's almost there, Mrs. Edwards. I need you to push."

"I bloody am pushing!" Screamed the breathless woman, squeezing her husband's hand. He winced in pain.

"Carla, darling, you're hurting me." The man said softly, feeling two of his finger joints pop.

"Oh shut up, Henry!" Carla screamed, grunting from a contraction, "You did this to me, you bastard!" The nurses all gasped at her colorful use of language. Henry slipped off the corner of the bed as Carla crunched his fingers even more, and he thudded onto the floor. She screamed with the next contraction, and suddenly it was over. Nurses crowded around with a tub of warm water and clean towels, and commenced cleaning the infant. Henry, now having his hand back, sat up and leaned on the corner of the bed. One young-looking nurse approached the exhausted couple.

"It's a girl," She announced proudly, clasping her hands together. "What will you be naming her?" Carla and Henry looked to each other with a smile.

"Morgan Grace." They said together, and it was apparent that the two had thought this out long before the baby was born.

"Morgan Grace Edwards, what a beautiful name." The nurse commented, and another nurse pushed her to the side, handing Mrs. Edwards her baby, wrapped in a clean towel.

"Oh, isn't she precious?" Carla asked her husband, and coddled the baby.

"Well," Henry stood up and looked at it, scratching the back of his head. "I guess so..."

Henry never really cared for children, and even had trouble warming up to his own. But by the time Morgan was five, the two were inseparable. During the day, while Henry was at work as an adviser for the governor, Carla sat home with her daughter and taught her needlepoint, gardening, etiquette, and cooking. For the half hour before Morgan's father returned home, Carla would sit and brush Morgan's lush brown hair, telling her stories of pirates.

For there hadn't been a pirate attack at Cruz Bay for over seven years, and the townspeople thought them gone.

And then sometime in the afternoon, Henry would come home.

"Daddy!" Morgan would squeal, running towards him. He would scoop her up and lift her high above his head, and she would giggle. "Guess what Mum told me today! Another pirate story!" Henry would then glance sidelong at his wife, returning his daughter gently to the floor.

"Dear, you know you shouldn't be filling the girl's head with all that pirate nonsense."

"Oh, Henry. They're only stories. Besides, pirates don't come around here anymore." Henry would then sigh, knowing that if he argued, he would be fighting a losing battle.

"Daddy," Morgan would whine, tugging at her father's jacket tails, "Can we go watch the ships? Please?" Without further ado, Henry would bring his daughter down to the docks to watch the ships pull in and out of port. Little Morgan was fascinated with them.

"Are those pirate ships?" She would ask.

"No, poppet." He would respond, "Pirate ships fly black sails." Henry hugged his daughter close, hoping to never again see black sails come to port at Cruz Bay.

That night, after the last ship had been docked and dormant, Henry returned home with a sleepy Morgan. Her mother helped her change into her cotton nighty, and then tucked her into bed.

"Mum, what's that pretty thing?" Morgan asked, pointing to a silver, heart-shaped locket dangling around her mother's neck.

"Oh this? My mother gave this to me, when I was married to your father. It's a family heirloom." Carla explained, sitting on the corner of the bed, and thoughtfully fingering the locket. She smiled upon her daughter. "Her mother gave it to her when she was married. And when you grow up and get married, I'm going to give it to you." Morgan yawned, and Carla kissed her upon the forehead, turning up the bed sheets, and blowing out the candle that warmly illuminated the room.


	2. Emily

**Chapter II**

When Morgan was ten, Emily was just about five, and looked nothing like her older sister. Morgan was well-tanned and dark-haired; very earthen-looking like her native Caribbean mother. Little Emily, on the contrary, had her father's blonde hair and blue eyes, and fair, freckled skin, which oft got her a mild sunburn. Regardless, the youth was overwhelmingly fond of the beach, the water, and the flamboyant coral reefs that lie submerged not too far from shore.

"Mum? Beach!" Little Emily tugged on her mother's apron, as the woman cooked breakfast. Emily wasn't quite as verbal as Morgan was at her age, but she knew what she wanted, and she knew how to get it.

"After breakfast, dear." She signed as she set four bowls of hot porridge on the table, and wiped her hands on her apron. "Emily, where's your sister?"

"In bed still." Emily pointed a skinny finger towards the general direction of the bedroom they shared. Carla rolled her eyes. She burst into Morgan's room, thrust the window shades open, and jerked the quilt clear off the sleeping girl. Morgan muttered incoherently, scratched at her calf, and curled into a ball.

"Get up, Morgan, and make yourself decent before your breakfast gets cold." The harsh tone of her mother's voice jarred Morgan rudely to consciousness.

"Yes'm," Morgan grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Actually, don't bother being decent. Put on your play clothes... Emily wants to go down to the beach after breakfast." At the word 'beach', Morgan was wide awake. As her mother left the room, she scrambled to the dresser to fish out the pair of tattered knickers and the boy's shirt that constituted for Morgan's "play clothes".

Morgan ran at breakneck speeds, skidded into the dining room, muttered a "good morning" to her family as she shoveled hot porridge into her mouth, wiped her face with a napkin, leapt from her chair, and bounded towards the front door.

"WAIT!" There was only one thing in all of the Caribbean that could make Morgan come to a screeching halt, and that was her mother.

"Yes mum?" She stood on her toes.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Carla crossed her arms. Morgan thought for a moment, and then nodded. She skipped over to her father, who was still eating, and kissed him on the cheek, and then kissed her mother on the cheek.

"I love you mum, daddy... I'll be home for lunch." Morgan made a break for the door.

"WAIT."

"Yes mum?"

"You're forgetting something else." Morgan looked quizzically at her mother, until her sister whined at her. Emily was only halfway done with her porridge, and desperately trying to finish it in record time. Morgan grumbled and slumped against the wall, knowing she would have to play babysitter again today.

The path to the beach wasn't far from the Edwards' house, and it was a heavily wooded, rarely traveled trail. Morgan bounded over rocks and roots, ignoring the tempting branches of mango trees drooping with ripe fruit, or the curious three-inch-long centipedes that made their little ways along the side of the trail, or even the ghastly ruins of the abandoned sugar cane plantation, destroyed by pirates decades ago. Emily struggled to keep up.

Once at the beach, Morgan kicked off her shoes, never tiring of the feel of the fine white sand between her toes. The little half-mile-wide inlet and beach, North of Cruz Bay, was surrounded on either end by heavy sub-tropical vegetation, and was secluded from the rest of the world. It was too shallow for larger ships to come in, but many a time, Morgan would come across a lost ray, sea turtle, and the occasional smallish shark.

Emily stooped and collected pretty little bits of seashell and washed up coral to bring home to her mother, while Morgan waded knee-deep in the crystal blue water, trying fruitlessly to catch small, silvery fish with her bare hands. Soon, Emily became bored with collecting shells, and left what she'd found and fancied in a pile by her shoes. Wanting to join her sister, Emily rushed towards the tranquil waves that lapped at the sand.

"Whatcha doing, Morgan?" Emily waded over to her sister, and the fish Morgan was desperately trying to catch darted away into deeper waters.

"I _was_ catching fish. You scared them away." Morgan scratched at the back of her neck with a wet hand, and squinted at the rippling water, scanning for fish.

"Catch fish? Why?" Emily shoved her hands into the pockets of her navy knickers and watched her sister with undying admiration.

"Because maybe if I caught enough fish, mum could cook them and we could have them for dinner." Giving up, Morgan waded out a little deeper.

"Can I help?" Emily asked hopefully.

"Only if you can catch fish." Morgan plunged her hands into the water hoping to catch that colorful parrotfish, but missed her target, and it swam away. Emily puffed out her scrawny chest proudly.

"I can catch 'em."

Morgan waded out in search of bigger, better creatures, and while she was only waist deep, poor Emily was well in up to her chest.

"Morgan, I don't see any fishes." Emily complained.

"Shh." Out of the corner of her eye, Morgan caught a glimpse of a large grey form gliding smoothly and swiftly through the water not to far from the girls. Her heart skipped a beat. "Emily, get out of the water. Now."

"Why?" Emily asked naively.

"Shark." Morgan hissed, grabbing her sister's arm and making haste towards the shore.

"Ow!" Emily fell forward with a splash. Morgan, frustrated and quite frightened, let go of her sister. "My foot is stuck on a rock!" Emily cried, trying to wrench free her wedged ankle. The rocks were sharp, and cut into her delicate skin. Blood began to dissipate into the surrounding waters. The sleek grey figure turned sharply, smelling the blood. It was heading towards the source. In a frantic attempt, Morgan grabbed her younger sister by the torso and tried to pull her along, which resulted only in more agonized screams and cries from the tiny girl.

The distance between the shark and source of blood had closed. This shark was bigger than any Morgan had ever seen, even from afar. She backed away hastily, and Emily let out a bloodcurdling scream. The clear blue water surrounding her was suddenly clouded red. Morgan stared in horror. She wanted to scream for help, but no sound came out. A flailing, screaming, agonized Emily was jerked under the churning surface of the water as another shark came to feed. Water poured into her gaping mouth and drowned out her scream. Forever.

Morgan ran as fast as she could back home, leaving all possessions upon the beach. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't block from her mind's eye the sight of her sister being devoured alive, and the child's scream echoed hauntingly in her ears.

"Morgan! What's wrong? What happened? Where's Emily?" Henry asked, concerned, as Morgan burst through the front door panting and with tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Morgan, where's Emily?" Carla rested her hands on Morgan's shoulders. The blood. It wouldn't go away. And she was in the midst of it, screaming, being eaten alive. Morgan slammed her back to the wall and pressed her hands to her ears. The ghastly screaming wouldn't stop. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the image. Morgan started screaming uncontrollably. Carla became pale, and started crying nervously. Henry took Morgan by the shoulders and shook her firmly.

"Morgan, where is your sister!" He asked sternly.

"Shark!" Was the only coherent thing that came from Morgan's shrill babble. Henry let go of her, and she slowly slid her back down the wall, until she was sitting, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them in tight, sobbing and sniveling.

"Oh God... oh God..." Carla muttered, her hand over her mouth, as she shook her head in disbelief. Henry burst out the front door, running in the general direction of the beach.

Morgan and her mother waited for an hour in complete silence. Thoughts raced through Morgan's confused mind, and she couldn't make eye contact with her mother. Suddenly the front door creaked open, and Henry's tired silhouette filled the doorway, his figure shadowed by the late afternoon sun sinking slowly upon the red horizon.

"Well...?" Carla stood, a fleeting tone of hopefulness in her voice and her gaze. Henry said nothing; he cast his eyes downward, and shook his weary head defeatedly.


	3. Upsetting News

**Chapter III**

It was roughly two years after the death of her little sister, and Morgan never really had any friends while growing up in the bustling town of Cruz Bay. By the time she was twelve, Henry had been promoted to a commodore, and had little time left for his family. Sometimes he would be away at sea, and it would be weeks on end before he would return home again. Morgan thought herself a little old for dolls and needlepoint, and often spent her time down at the docks, waiting for something that never came. She had her perch atop a fat stump of post that served no other purpose, and from there, she could watch the bustle of port and not be in the way.

This specific day was May the 2nd, and the weather was perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, and a sweet breeze blew in from the west. Morgan was sitting on her post, her shoes kicked off, and her long, soft brown hair in a loose bun. She didn't care whether or not she was proper in public; most people around the docks never paid much heed to her anyway.

"Good morning, Morgan, my sweets." Morgan's view of an immense freight ship carrying thousands of crates of fruit and rum was suddenly obstructed by a pair of grubby hands and a bouquet of weeds. Behind the grotesque corsage was a round, beaming face, with rosy cheeks and blue eyes.

"Good morning to you, Adrian." Morgan tried to peer around his pudgy teenage girth. Giving up, she left her seat and stood to Adrian's side, and watched the burly negroes toss the crates to one another as if they were filled with feathers.

"Happy thirteenth!" Adrian beamed, shoving his prized bouquet toward her once again.

"Adrian," Morgan turned to look up at him – he was a good seven inches taller than she. "Dear, my birthday isn't for another week."

"Oh." Feeling foolish, he lowered his weeds, and his gaze. Adrian thought for a moment, and then grinned stupidly at her. "So this makes me two years _and_ two weeks older than you." Morgan rolled her eyes, but giggled, for his sake. "These are for you anyway." Adrian presented her yet again with the wild flowers.

"Why, thank you Adrian." Morgan smiled, reluctantly accepting the slightly wilted bundle of weeds. She quickly averted her attention to the freighter still at port. It was a magnificent looking ship, in Morgan's eyes; its sides were painted with fancy shades of yellow and ochre, and the majestic white sails spread way up into the sky. "Oh, isn't it fantastic?" Morgan asked rhetorically, holding her hands - and the flowers - over her heart.

The fifteen-year-old boy started to fidget, playing with his hands behind his back. His gaze averted to the dirt in which he began to dig the toe of his left shoe. He cleared his throat loudly, and Morgan looked expectantly at him.

"Well . . . " Adrian started, blushing slightly and motioning to the flowers, "Am I going to get a kiss now?" Morgan stared blankly at him for a moment, and he was blushing horribly. The poor boy was probably wishing he'd never asked. Morgan stood on her toes, and gave Adrian a reluctant peck on the cheek.

"Well, I must be going now, for late grows the hour." Morgan paused and glanced at the late afternoon sun. Adrian nodded in response. "Farewell, Adrian, and perhaps I will see you tomorrow." For a preteen, Morgan was well spoken and had very good manners. She curtsied, scooped up her shoes, and then skipped off in the general direction of her home, leaving Adrian to bask in his boyish bliss.

"Wash up. You're late for supper." Carla ordered Morgan as the girl closed the front door behind her.

"I'm sorry, mum, it won't happen again." Morgan apologized, making haste with the wash bin in the corner.

"That's what you said last time . . . " Carla sighed disappointedly, setting a cooked chicken amidst the other dishes at the long dining room table.

"Where's daddy?" Morgan asked, sliding herself into a seat at the table.

"He won't be home until very late tonight." Carla replied, setting out a steaming bowl of carrots and peas. Morgan grimaced; she hated peas.

"May I stay up and wait for him?" Morgan folded her hands in her lap as her mother withdrew to the kitchen. Carla returned with a bowl of rice in one hand, and serving utensils in the other. Setting them all upon the table, she wiped her hands on her apron, and looked upon her patient child.

"No." She sat across the table from Morgan. "Pass me your dish."

"Oh, mum, why not?" Morgan whined, passing her dish over. Carla carved the chicken and served Morgan a few pieces of white meat, and then heaped on the rice and steamed vegetables. Morgan scowled; oh, how she hated peas.

"Because it will be far past your bedtime. Even I will be asleep." Carla handed Morgan's plate back to her.

"Very well, then." Morgan grumbled, and waited with her hands in her lap until her mother served herself, and then said grace.

Dinner was unusually quiet that night, neither Morgan nor her mother seemed to have much to say. Morgan's peas migrated from one side of her plate to the other as the meal progressed, but never did they near her mouth.

"Adrian gave me flowers today, mum." Morgan lined the peas along the contour of her plate with the fork. Carla chuckled.

"That boy has an eye for you, does he?" She forked a piece of chicken into her mouth.

"Mum . . . he won't leave me alone! I dare say that he is a nice boy, but I can't sit and watch the ships without him in the way."

"Ah, well, he is a Leonhardt, after all . . . " Carla's voice trailed off, and she seemed to grow rigid at the name. "Eat your peas."

"I can't. I'm full." Morgan shoved her plate away and patted her belly.

"Too full for pie?"

"But mum . . . I don't like peas."

"Do you want pie?"

"Yes, mum."

"Eat your peas."

"I don't like peas. They're icky." Morgan started to whine.

"Eat. Your. Peas." Carla growled through clenched teeth, and Morgan knew there was no arguing – or bargaining - with her mother's native Caribbean wrath.

"Yes, mum." Morgan glowered, pulling her plate back and spearing one pea, forcefully shoveling it into her mouth, and chewing with a disgusted look on her face. Ten minutes later, Morgan finished her peas.

That night, after Morgan was tucked into bed, she waited and listened to the sound of her mother's footsteps. They lingered in the living room a moment, and then retired to the master bedroom. Morgan waited a few minutes, and then slipped out of her bed, and to the door of her room, peering out into the hallway. Everything was cast in a shadowy darkness.

Morgan crept out of her room, and to the door of her mother's, making sure the woman was asleep. Sure enough she was, and Morgan made her barefooted way quickly and silently to the front door. The latch clicked quietly as she closed the door behind her, and she ran breathlessly down the dirt road in the pale moonlight.

She knew she would be in trouble if she was found out, so Morgan hid behind some shadowed crates by the dock. A few well-dressed men stood around, waiting for something. After what seemed like forever and a day, a huge ship came forth from the dark ocean, and loomed over the port.

"Daddy!" Morgan gasped happily, as the ship was docked, and her father was the first one to emerge.

"Commodore Edwards! Welcome home!" A short, stout man with a white wig and moustache took Henry's hand firmly and shook it.

"Paul, please, no formalities needed. We're all friends here." Henry let out a hearty chuckle, and patted the man on the shoulder.

"Listen, Henry, I've been meaning to talk to you about something." The cheerfulness slowly faded from Paul's rosy cheeks, although the stern attitude didn't reflect as much in his voice. As the remainder of the docked ship's crew disbanded and went their separate ways, Paul strolled along with Henry. They stopped dangerously close to Morgan's hiding spot. She held her breath.

"So, what is it, chap?" Henry shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I know about your wife." Paul stated accusingly, in a low tone of voice. Henry frowned.

"What do you mean?" He scratched the back of his head, and then returned his hand to his pocket.

"She's a strumpet, Henry, a whore." Paul spat the derogatory words as if they left a foul taste in his mouth.

"You're not making sense, Paul." There was a hint of anger in Henry's voice as he spoke. "Carla is a very respectable woman."

"Aye, now that she's married with a child. But she had her jollies with the sailors, she did, Henry. You're wife's about as pure as a bilge rat." Henry's fists clenched, and he fought hard to keep them in his pockets.

"It's not the truth." His voice was menacingly low.

"What would the navy think, if they knew a fine, upstanding man like you married a strumpet? It's not right, Henry, it ain't." Henry couldn't contain his fierce anger any longer. He gripped Paul by the shirt collar and lifted him off the ground.

"Paul, you're a filthy liar. Carla would never. And even if it was true, how in bloody hell would you come across information like that?" Paul broke out in a hideous, wheezy chuckle.

"Because I paid her." Henry suddenly released his grip from Paul, and took a step back. "It's the truth, Mr. Edwards. I bedded your sweet Carla like every other man in this town."

"God save your soul, Paul Leonhardt, because if you ain't bluffing, I will kill you."

_I will kill you_. The words reverberated painfully in Morgan's ears. Her father's voice was so cold and raw, edged with sheer anger. Was this the same father she knew and grew up with, the father who would lift her up on his shoulders and take her into town to shop for trinkets, who would tuck her into bed at night and keep away fictional monsters; was this the same father who, after all the broken vases, ripped skirts, and exceeded curfews, never once raised his voice, and loved unconditionally?

"Then kill me if you will, Mr. Edwards. Carla was supposed to be mine, she was. She loved me, more than any of the other sailors or scoundrels. And then you came along. You ruined it all, Henry Edwards. You stole her from me, and you stole from me a commodore rank. I resent you, and I hope you burn in hell." Henry balled his fists, and threw a punch at Paul. Paul reeled backwards, tenderly covering the right half of his face.

"Mr. Edwards!" Paul was appalled at Henry's actions.

"Goodnight, Mr. Leonhardt." Henry growled, planting his fists at his sides, and storming up the path away from the dock.

Morgan fled. Blending with the night, her feet barely touched the ground as she flew home. Surely, she thought, she would be found out. _I will kill you._ Had Morgan not left her bedroom window open, she never would have made it back to bed in time. She dashed around the side of the house, and scrambled through her window as her father climbed the front stoop. She dove into her bed, pulling the blankets up way over her head, and she could feel her heart pounding in her throat. She clenched her eyes shut as she heard footsteps come down the hall, and stop in front of her door. _I will kill you_.

Henry lightly pushed open the door of Morgan's bedroom, gazing upon his sleeping daughter.

"Goodnight, poppet." He whispered with a tired smile, and shut the door.


End file.
